It is not with the lyre of someone in love that I go seducing people. The rattle of the leper is what sings in my hands. Jane Kenyon
Sunday, December 30, 2007
C I R C U S
“No one lives his life.
Disguised since childhood,
From voices and fears and little pleasures,
We come of age as masks
Our true face never speaks.”
“How would anyone know if you’re
Sad or happy unless you are wearing a mask?”
No one recognizes the shadow
In my bedroom mirror until
I put on my mask.
When I perform, the audience
In the big top forget
Their tiger-striped anger, elephant
Trunk despair, lion-tamer anxiety.
The tight rope tension in necks
Disappear, All the Damocles fear
Are sword-swallowed.Their joy cannon
Balls to trapeze heights.
I am a consummate performer,
Everybody loves me. Every night
My saw-dust dread is exchanged
For star-dust dreams. Every morning
I wake, vowing never again
To be a clown.
But then the Ringmaster cracks
His whip, shouts, “The show
Must go on!”
Sunday, December 16, 2007
“You hear me again, as words
From the depths of me
Rush towards you in the mind.”
Exhale completely, sweep clean
The dusk from the house of your rib-cage.
Inhale deeply the dawn-filtered air
Filling the empty chambers of your heart.
And this is prayer, an exchange,
The pollutants from which one expires
For the power which The One inspires.